The Soldier's Rebel Lover

Her voice was low, breathy. Her fingers touched his hair. He pressed fluttering kisses down the column of her neck, then placed his lips on the pulse at her throat. ‘Lavender.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

He lifted his head. She was looking at him, her lips slightly parted, tense, waiting for what he would do next. Nothing, was what he ought to do. He bent his head and kissed her again. Her lips clung to his. Her fingers curled into the sleeve of his coat. He was trying to muster the courage to stop when her tongue touched his.

Finlay slid his arms around her, under her cloak. Isabella swayed towards him on her stool, her mouth pressed to his. She tasted so sweet. Wine and strawberries and a sizzling heat that sent the blood surging to his groin. Their kisses became wilder, deeper. Her fingers tangled in his hair, fluttered over his cheek, curled into his shoulders. He flattened his hands over the narrow span of her back. He could feel her shoulder blades through the cotton of her gown, the complicated strings and boning of her corsets. He licked along her plump lower lip, kissing each corner of her mouth.

‘You taste delightful,’ he said. ‘Delicious. Like vintage wine.’

She kissed him deeply, her tongue tangling with his. Fast learner. Very fast. He could not keep up with her. ‘Vintage kisses,’ Finlay said. ‘If only they could be bottled, you would have an elixir beyond price.’

He kissed her eyelids. He kissed her nose. He kissed her mouth again. And again. And again. Their knees bumped as they tried to get closer. He was hard. It would not do at all to get any closer. It was all he wanted. He kissed her again. She gave a tiny whimper that sent his pulses racing.

Slowly, he lifted his head and let her go. Her mouth was dark pink. Her eyes were wide, dark. He could feel the flush of passion on his cheeks, and lower down—Finlay shifted uncomfortably on the stool. ‘I don’t expect you’ll believe me if I tell you I’d resolved not to do that,’ he said.

‘We could blame it on the wine.’

‘We’ve not even finished one glass yet.’

Isabella picked hers up and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. ‘That was sacrilege,’ she said, wiping her lips.

‘Then, we must not waste a drop.’ Finlay licked the wine from the back of her hand. She shuddered. He didn’t mean to, but somehow his lips found hers again, and somehow they were kissing again, and this time they were very different kisses. Dark and hot, tongues stroking, touching, thrusting. The kind of kisses that demanded more. The stools clattered to the stone floor as they stood, pressing their bodies hard against each other, still kissing, and kissing and kissing, until Finlay knocked against the table, and the wine bottle fell over and the precious wine began to spill out over the wood and drip onto the stone floor.

He grabbed it and set it upright. There was less than a third left.

‘Now, that really is sacrilege,’ Isabella said.

‘Or a warning. I should not have— I did not mean— Have you any idea how ravishing you look?’ Finlay groaned. ‘What am I thinking!’

‘I sincerely hope that it is not leading to an apology.’

He laughed drily. ‘I’m not sorry, though I should be.’

‘Good, because neither am I.’ Isabella was tidying her hair, concentrating on adjusting the fastenings of her cloak, pouring the last of the wine. Finally, she met his eyes. ‘I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted—after the last time, I wanted to get it right.’

‘You got it a trifle too right.’

‘Did I?’

‘I’d have thought, from the way I couldn’t keep my hands off you, that it was obvious.’ Finlay brushed the cobweb from her hair. ‘But I should not have taken advantage.’

She flinched away from him, the light dying from her eyes. ‘You think I kissed you because you wanted me to, and not because I wanted to?’

‘No, I don’t. You really are a prickly—but you probably have cause. Look at me. Please.’ He touched her cheek gently. ‘The fact is that I’ve a deal of experience in these things and you have none. To put it bluntly, I am not a seducer of virgins.’

She coloured, but held his gaze. ‘It was just a few kisses, Finlay.’

He laughed softly. ‘There, you see, your innocence is showing if that’s what you think. Those were the kind of kisses to keep a man awake at night, wanting more. Now, shall we drink this excellent wine and get on with the rest of the tour?’

* * *

She took him back through the wine vaults to the barrel vaults, and began to explain the process of ageing. The cellars were so familiar to her that Isabella could lead the way without a lamp if necessary. The questions Finlay was asking were intelligent enough. Some wine merchants knew more, true, but not all. Their field of expertise was in the tasting. Had Finlay been teasing her when he had pretended to know nothing of the nose? Or flirting? Back up the stairs to the main winery, she took him through to the coopering shed. Here he surprised her, clearly knowing a great deal more than she of the process.